


The lines keep getting thinner

by Tirrathee



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirrathee/pseuds/Tirrathee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suffering from character bleed is not something the man playing <i>Loki</i> can easily deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The lines keep getting thinner

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Imagine Dragons' [_Nothing left to say_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bn7eYibzmTs). Spat out after seeing [this drawing](http://logosles.tumblr.com/post/22944588778/stay-with-me-stay-stay-with-me-like-you-used).

   Filming ‘The Avengers’ is immense joy. Working with Joss can be really exhausting, with his constant alternations to the script that he comes up with as they go, which sometimes has them re-doing one shot a dozen times and then retrying once again to  _just nail it guys,_ but it’s great to feel a part of the creative process; it’s great to have this much contribution to the character each of them plays.

   Who would have thought it would also make him have the worst nightmares in his life.

   Character bleed is not something he is unfamiliar with, but he practically  _becomes_  Loki in order to adapt to Joss’ rapid changes and bring the god to life rather than just mimic the script - he’s spend enough time in Loki’s head to know him better than anyone, and if he doesn’t give him the air of authenticity then no one will. And as the singular main villain of the film, his responsibility only grows. It’s no wonder he sometimes wakes up in the dead of the night, haunted by the phantom burden of loneliness and fear of failure, or, worse still, fear of  _success._  It is then that he has most trouble coming back to himself, detaching his own mind from Loki’s. Because, in the dead of the night, he has nobody near him to do the reality check with; no friend who would send the fear away and soothe the dream-confused mind, defining him as  _Tom_  the actor,  _brother, son, friend, runner, dancer, prancer, loon._

   Some nights it gets worse, some he sleeps through undisturbed. It is after the day they shoot the Stark Tower duel between brothers, repeating, changing and re-taking it time and again, that he fears he will find himself tangled in sheets and in Loki’s mind again, this time more caught up in despair than ever thanks to the intensity Joss couldn’t praise enough after the cut, but all concern leaves him by the time they come back to the hotel - he is tired beyond thought and collapses on the bed the moment he is tolerably dry after the quick shower, falling unconscious nearly instantly.

   He doesn’t notice his door isn’t closed shut.

_Sentiment -_

_You will know real pain,_ Asgardian-

_You give up this poisonous dream,… You come home!_

_I have_  no such thing  _as_ home

_No, Loki_

   “No, Tom - wake up!”

   He draws in a shaky, quick breath as strong arms wrap around him and hold tight against a steady weight behind his back; his hands come to grasp at them from where they were fisted in the sheets like so many nights before, searching for any anchor point.

   “Wake up, it’s alright, Tom, wake up.” The deep, rumbling voice he has come to love slowly drowns out the rustle of his thoughts, thinning the impenetrable flock of ravens swallowing every sound and light, steadying him in here and now, and his breathing becomes even once more, racing heartbeat slows down and he opens his eyes, unsure of anything beyond this warm, solid presence he wouldn’t dare let go of.

   “Tom?”

   Thor -  _Chris_ \- shifts, raising himself on one elbow, the light coming in through the open door outlining his golden hair, casting his face in deep shadow, and Tom’s grip on his arm and hand tightens, holding on as if for dear life. “Chris?”, he asks weakly, yearning for confirmation that this is real and won’t shatter into bitter memory of a dream come morning. 

   “Am here, mate. You awake?”

   “I hope so.”

   His friend’s face brightens with a small, relieved smile, and if his eyes are still worried, the darkness hides it. “I heard you cry out in your sleep. Your door wasn’t locked.” After a short pause, he adds, his voice softer: “It’s Loki again, isn’t it.”

   He should be shocked that Chris knows, he has had a lid on it ever since his nightmares began and somehow always managed to collect himself in the morning, but right now he only relaxes, nodding with relief that Chris  _understands_  and is here, confirming what is real. “Stay,” he murmurs, pleading with the squeeze of his hands, and the mattress dips as Chris moves from half-sitting on the edge of the bed to cradle Tom close to his chest, laying down behind him. His strong arms tighten around the slighter man’s tense body and he instinctively buries his nose in Tom’s black, ruffled hair.

   “I’m not going anywhere.”

   They fall asleep together, finding comfort in each other’s warmth.

   Neither of them wakes when a shade detaches itself from the darkness in the far corner of the room and leaves, silently closing the door before disappearing in a whirlwind of emerald smoke. The God of Lies is stronger than the mortal playing him, he can withstand the raging storm the human knows only a reflection of, seeping through the understanding he has for whom he thinks to be but a character.

   He can’t, however, ignore the longing in his chest to have what the human has - the anchor against the maelstrom; the safe port and escape from the rough waters of his chosen course. He stands on the roof several floors above the two mortals, gazing unblinkingly at the light-polluted night sky of the big city. The stars are pale and hardly visible in the orange glow. 

   The lightning on the horizon, however, isn’t, and for a split second something akin to hope wells up in the Trickster’s heart, before he forces indifference upon himself. 

   It is much, much later when he realizes that at any other time, he would summon not indifference, but hatred at the thought of his not-brother, and the image of the two mortals falling asleep together appears on its own accord in his mind’s eye, landing a searing spark on his ice-turned heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Also on my [tumblr](http://ninefingersoneblade.tumblr.com/post/37645519325/the-lines-keep-getting-thinner).


End file.
